


Aliit

by MandoKain



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Lots of OCs - Freeform, Minor Violence, Other, light shipping, occasional appearance of canon characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-05-09 19:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14721797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MandoKain/pseuds/MandoKain
Summary: Each chapter is a different snapshot from my characters’ lives. Not necessarily in chronological order, generally focusing on Panther Squad/Aliit Toqema, and sometimes Smoke Squad/Aliit Kashk. Canon divergent.





	1. The Beginning of Panther Squad

**Author's Note:**

> You can learn more about these characters if you go through the “#my OCs” tag on my tumblr, @fromryloth-tocorellia. This is just kind of a way to keep all the little stories in one place. Occasional guest appearances from tumblr user @rogueclonesftw’s characters too! (Noted in chapters they appear in)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet the heart of the clan, Cain Toqema, along with the first two members of Aliit Toqema and what would become known as Panther Squad. Like all good things, it starts with a bar fight.

There was a heavy thud. They sighed and ducked slightly.

The evening had started normally enough. Cain had come in for a breather and a drink, something fizzy and fruity with no alcohol in it. They were a little done and a little bored and had wanted a little space, so they’d told Kell they were finding the nearest ‘establishment’ and would be back later. They’d had a few quiet drinks, trying a couple of different bubbly things as they looked around at the patrons of the place; it was never a bad idea to know who was in your vicinity. They hadn’t caught the beginning of the exchange, having been to focused on trying to identify a presence with a Force signature both familiar and unknown, but the raised voices had caught their attention. Someone shouted something about the GAR and scum, and a familiar face (bar a jagged nose) had responded. The thud had been the original antagoniser hitting the ground as the muscled clone decked him and laid him out. Just like that, the room exploded. It didn’t take much to start bar fights in places like this. The staff were not paid enough to handle it, and it was considered to early to hire bouncers or security. The only thing for it was to let everyone go at it until they wore themselves out. Cain sat at the bar, lekku pulled close against their back and out of the way, ducking the occasional flying debris and watching the burly clone with the broken nose fend off one attacker after another. Just to see if they could, Cain located the odd presence again, expecting to find it somewhere in the fighting. It wasn’t. The presence, when they located it, belonged once again to that familiar face, this time thinner slightly, the one beating it leaner, their power stored differently. They seemed to be ignoring the fight, as they tucked into their food. Cain would have been hesitant to eat here, but soldiers would eat anything put in front of them. Clones couldn’t afford to be choosy, under most circumstances. Cain got up, going towards the small table which appeared to be the only quiet spot in the raging room. The Force did the work of keeping them from being hit, a protective bubble formed around them. As they walked, a bottle sailed across the room, smashing just over the leaner vod’s head. He stopped. Cain stopped, watching him. He swallowed, then lifted the butter knife in his right hand. He squinted slightly, staring across the room, before the butter knife was a blur of silver. It impaled itself through the hand of a man across the room, who yelped in pain. A fork sprouted through the hand and into the wall beside the knife, and the man howled. The clone stood, and Cain moved over to join him, giving a short, military nod.

“Hope you don’t mind backup.”

“Not at all.” He nodded in return, recognition and welcome in one. They passed him a folded knife, and he clicked it into place, feeling it lock and weighing it in his hand appreciatively. Cain drew their own blades. “Shall we?” A wry grin pulled the clone’s face askew, and Cain nodded again. The two of them whirled through the bar, getting to the clone who had thrown the first punch.

“Vod,” said the lean one, and the muscled one grinned.

“Vod. Burc’ya be jie?”

“Burc'ya vaal burk'yc, burc'ya veman,” answered the other, and Cain smiled, knowing the phrase. The rest of the bar had gathered around the three of them. They turned, backs to each other.

“Hwa mhi narir ibic?” Cain grinned. The first man attacked.

Later, as the three of them walked out after the fight victorious, the fork-thrower turned to Cain.

“Blink. Nicely done.”

“Cain. And yourself.” They nodded to the puncher. “You two know each other by chance?”

“Nope. Recoil,” the clone introduced himself. He held out his hand, and Cain clasped his arm and shook in the Mandalorian fashion, repeating the gesture when Blink held out his arm as well. “Accident. Lucky one, though. You seem familiar with clones, if I say so myself,” Recoil said curiously. Cain shrugged.

“I should hope so. Lived with ‘em for long enough.” That got some raised eyebrows.

“You fight like a warrior, not a soldier,” Blink pointed out. Eyes narrowing again, he asked, “you a Jedi?”

“Ex-Jedi,” Cain shrugged again. “Not anymore.”

“You a Commander?” Recoil sounded equally suspicious. Cain scoffed, reassuring them.

“Don’t kriffin’ call me that. I’m Cain. _Just_ Cain.”

“Fair. Well, just Cain. Gal’gala?” Blink offered, relaxing now. He looked over at Recoil briefly, and received a slight nod and a smile in return.

“Sure. Though, I think maybe we should look in a different place.”

“There’s a café down the street,” Recoil offered. He led the way.

Over pastries and highly sugared caf, they talked. “Former heavy gunner, if you couldn’t tell,” Recoil told them. “I was in the 343rd.” He was wearing a heavy leather jacket and cargo pants, which Cain could tell held just about anything he might find useful.

“Nowhere near me then,” Blink shrugged. “I was a Commando.” That explained the pinpoint accuracy with the fork, then. He was wearing a lighter outfit, designed with movement in mind, though his jacket also had enough pockets to hold anything he required. His boots were soft-soled, as opposed to Recoil’s, which would probably break bone if he kicked you with them. “And you, Mx. Former Commander?”

“I moved around,” they shrugged. “Swapped teachers and battalions, never really got a chance to form a bond with any particular crew. Have now though, sort of.” Recoil stared hard, and Cain explained about the New Dawn, and Black Company. Recoil and Blink listened, intrigued.

“I thought they were all–“

“KIA? So did I. But no, about twenty or so survived along with my friend Kell.” They didn’t include the bit about the year apart. “I’m glad of it. The fewer people lost to this, the better.”

Something in Recoil’s expression changed, just slightly, and Cain felt him relax a little in the Force. Recoil seemed to have settled on something, though they weren’t sure what, or why. Maybe he just liked that they didn’t approve.

Blink peered at them. “Why don’t you like Commander?”

“Why would I? That osik’s gotta be earned. I was never with anyone long enough to feel like I earned it. I was a teenager with no military experience, expected to lead troops far more knowledgeable than I was, into battles dictated and organised by arrogant, di’kut Jedi generals with basically no strategic ability or military training.” Cain shrugged. “I never bonded with anyone enough to have my own squad. I always wanted to, but I never got the chance.” They felt something in Blink click into place, too, that interesting settling in the Force again. But all he said was, “huh.”

Recoil asked the next question. “Do you think we could meet the vode on your ship?”

“Of course!” Cain smiled. They would absolutely be welcomed on the ship, and would almost certainly be allowed to stay if they asked. Cain liked the two of them. Heavy gunner and special ops. The two of them were definitely built differently. But the face was still the same. They smiled at the two, before sipping their caf again. Before they put the cup down, Recoil and Blink’s faces closed. They stood simultaneously and moved, each with a hand on a corner of Cain’s chair. They turned to see a startled Kell standing in front of the two clones. Recoil looked more than ready for another confrontation.

“Need something?” Blink said coolly. He flicked a glance at the sabre hanging just visible on Kell’s belt, his face hardening slightly. Cain looked between him, and Blink, back to Kell, then Recoil, then Kell again.

“Guys. This is Kell.”

“Oh.” They instantly stood down. “Whoops. Sorry.”

“Saw sabers and a walk with purpose, thought it might have been trouble,” Blink murmured. Cain stepped toward Kell, who still seemed not to know what to make of this.

“Kell, this is Recoil, and that’s Blink. We took out an entire bar together, it was pretty awesome, and then decided to have a chat.”

Recoil and Blink held out their hands to shake. The two of them appeared to be gauging him, but they must have been satisfied, because they sat back down and led the last seat for him. Kell gave Cain a wary look. The barest shift of a shoulder was all he received in response. They didn’t know what that was either. Kell looked between the two clones, one brawny and powerful, one smaller and giving off an air of danger all on his own, and then back at Cain. The Force didn’t lie; the mirroring was too strong to ignore. These two had _picked_ Cain. They had the beginnings of a crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kell, Cain’s adoptive brother and oldest friend from the Temple, appears courtesy of tumblr user @rogueclonesftw.


	2. An ARC Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard's rescue and introduction. This is the first chapter I have written with themechanicsnightmare (@rogueclonesftw on tumblr)! I am really proud of it, and I am happy to have gotten their permission to post it. This is probably going to be your only insight into Kell and Jaster for a bit, because Nuhur's intro chapter is going to be posted later as we have yet to write it.

“We're almost there,” Kell said. Jaster finished pushing buttons on the console and started checking his blasters. “We've done this before, so you two just stay here unless something goes wrong please.” 

“We’ll cover you from out here,” Blink nodded, before Cain could say anything. He held out a hand in front of them, and the two exchanged a look. Cain’s resistance melted, and they nodded. 

“We’ll see you back here. Holler if you need anything.” This was Kell and Jaster’s plan. The two knew what they had to do. Blink and Cain took up their seats at the front, ready for them. “Keep your comms on and we’ll let you know if there’s anything unexpected.” 

“Great.” Kell turned to Jaster. “You ready?”

Jaster raised his blasters and headed for the door. 

Cain waited in the front seat. Blink had taken Jaster’s and they were in Kell’s. 

Kell pushed the button on his datapad, hacking the lock. The door slid open. Jaster dropped the pilot and co-pilot in two quick shots.

Kell turned to look around at the six ARC troopers in the seats around the shuttle. They all stared back. The Force felt sluggish around them. Drugged. Dammit.

“This is a rescue,” Kell said before they could do more than start to frown. “Can you move?” 

One of them seemed a little more awake than others. He had dark green on his armor and blue tattoos on his face. He lifted his head and squinted at Kell. “The kriff?” 

Blink’s voice came over the comm. “You two are about to have company. They got security droids and they’re coming your way.” 

Cain closed their eyes and reached out. 

“Shit. That’s six, but they’re drugged. They might have difficulty getting them out.” 

“Kriffing hells.” Kell drew his sabers. “Jas, get them in their seats,” he said, pointing at the pilot and co-pilot. “I’ll deal with this.” 

The ARC who was more awake was pushing against the restraints. His hands were bound. “Get... get this off,” he groaned. He was not about to be reconditioned if he could help it. He had learned too much and come too far. 

“How many droids am I looking at?” Kell asked, cutting one in half. “Jaster, help these guys up.” 

“I see four,” Blink replied. 

“One of them is more awake than the rest,” Cain said quietly. “Ready to leave and wants to help.” Blink relayed that. 

“Moving one wants out. He can help.” 

“I can tell, give me a second.” Kell reached out with the Force, popping the seal on the restraints. “Try that.” 

The ARC stretched, then moved to get his brothers out while Kell dealt with the sec droids. 

Kell cut the last of the droids in half, then helped the last of the ARCs up. “Alright, let’s go.” 

The first one, the one who’d been awake, helped herd them out. Cain was already ready with an antidote for the drugs. Blink was at the con, checking. “We’re good to go.” He gave up the con to Jaster when the Mandalorian came over, appearing at Cain’s side with his arm settled around their shoulders. He looked over the brothers on the ship and made eye contact with the one at the back. 

The ARC looked between Kell, Jaster, and Cain and Blink. Despite the fact that the tall one and the Mando had rescued him, there was a... Thing about the other two. The Twi’lek in particular. He looked between them and the vod in plainclothes and felt a click.  _ Yep.  _ He watched the way the two interacted, the way Cain checked with the brothers and the immediate trust and... not protectiveness, but commitment Blink had to Cain, it was palpable. That was something any clone could pick up on and it meant that this was a team you wanted to be part of. He walked over. 

“Bard,” he told them. He held out a hand, and Cain, smiling at him, clasped his arm Mando style. 

“Cain. This is Blink,” they smiled. 

“Your second in command?” 

Blink shook his head. “Nah. No command. Friends. You’ll meet Recoil when we get back, he’s also in our squad. We’re part of the New Dawn crew.” He shook too as Bard nodded. Bard was doing better, but still needed an antidote, so Cain provided. 

Kell was checking on the other ARCs. They looked better, but still woozy. One of them was starting to squint as if fighting off a headache.

“So what are your names?” he asked.

One had green hair that stuck up in all directions and a scar above his left eyebrow. “Jai,” he said.

“Tala,” said another, this one blond with curling black tattoos up the side of his neck. Beside him were Galaar, a natural redhead, and Teek and Niko, a blue haired pair. Teek’s hair was lighter and he lacked the tattoos that Niko had on his face. 

“You guys doing okay?”

“We’ll be fine, sir,” Jai said quietly.

“I know you will be, but I asked about now. And less of the sir. I ain’t your boss.” 

Cain looked around at them. They’d felt the click of Bard’s decision and they were smiling. Bard was okay, so they were checking with the rest, watching the ones talking to Kell.  

“Yes, sir,” Galaar said.

Kell opened his mouth to say something, but spotted the smirk creeping across the redhead’s face. 

“Bit of a headache,” Tala said. “Because of the drugs. It’ll pass.” 

Cain bit back a laugh at the smirk. That was perfect. They’d found the  _ fuck _ on the team. This would be fun. 

“Got water,” they put in after Tala spoke. “It will help with clearing your systems.” 

“Thanks, sir.” 

“I’m not a sir. I’m just Cain,” they smiled, making sure all the ARCs had water. “Drink up.” 

“You heard the Twi’lek,” Kell said. “I'm going to check on the pilot. I'll be back.” 

Cain made sure everyone was okay. “Anyone need medical attention?” 

“No, we're all fine,” Jai said. “Just tired mostly.” 

They nodded. “Good. We have food if you need it.” Which they probably did.  

“Maybe later. I think I just want to sleep.” 

“Gotcha.” Cain showed them where they were to sleep. 

“Thanks,” they chorused, collapsing into bed. 

Blink smiled slightly at Bard and the way they all collapsed. “That one,” he said, nodding to the green armoured ARC, “is ours.” 

“I felt it. He did the same thing you did,” they smiled. 

“What do you mean?” 

“‘I like this one. This one’s mine.’” 

Blink started laughing. Cain grinned. 

“That is  _ exactly  _ right.” 


	3. Enter Careen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cain, our little green twi’lek friend, has a new girlfriend, Xhona, a purple Togruta with a green crest, and they’ve since picked up an ARC musician named Bard. Xhona, however, has a friend Cain needs to meet.

“He’s a pilot.”

“Yup.”

“Named _Careen_?”

“Yup.”

“How badly does he swerve?”

“...He lives up to the name.”

Cain was quiet for a minute. “And he’s your best friend, who is helping us find a new ship.”

“Yep. He is really good at ships.”

“All right,” Cain sighed. Xhona rubbed their back.

“Don’t worry, babe. You’ll like him.” She kissed Cain’s head, and they blushed. “He’s your type.”

“My type?”

“Yeah.” Xhona was grinning slyly and Cain wasn’t sure how to feel.

“What type is that?” they asked warily.

“You’ll see.”

When Careen arrived, he was wearing a helmet and flight suit. He and Xhona shook hands in a complicated manner and hugged before Careen took off the helmet. Cain immediately brightened. Xhona had been right, at least. He was their ‘type.’

“Hi. You’re Cain, yeah?”

“Yeah. Nice to meet you, Careen.” The two exchanged a Mandalorian hand clasp, and Careen nodded approvingly. His hair was shorter on the sides and a little longer on top, a bit like Punk from the Smokies, and he had an easy smile that brought light to the familiar face and made Cain smile back.

“Nice to meet you too,” the clone nodded back. He tucked his helmet under his arm the way Cain had seen a thousand thousand times. “Hope you’re treating Xhona right. Hey!” She’d elbowed him. “What? I’m allowed to look out for my best friend’s wellbeing.”

“Cain is an absolute sweetheart, I’ll have you know,” Xhona told him. “Be nice. I picked them.” Cain was blushing, but nodded sheepishly.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Careen,” they promised. The brief glance they cast Xhona was adoring.

_Click._

“Good. Come on, I’ll show you the ships. Xho, you coming?”

“I’m gonna look for accessories to wire into whatever you two pick. Blink and I can configure them together.”

“Oh, no,” Cain mumbled, as their Togruta sweetheart walked away.

“Blink?”

“Blink is the RC. He takes things apart and then puts them back together, not always in their original configuration. If the RC and the hacker install things on our ship...”

“I see where you’re going with that. Hey, at least they’re friends, though,” Careen pointed out. Xhona had obviously told him about Cain and their team. “Could be worse.”

“Technological sabotage? Don’t,” Cain advised, and Careen laughed.

“Fair enough. All right, let’s take a look at our options.”

He and Cain spent a good while talking about and looking over the ships. They finally picked one that was relatively small, but had rooms for a dozen, each individual.

“This is nice. Good shields, gun emplacements, and a solid hyperdrive.”

“I like that everyone gets their own room. Might be handy.”

“And we have enough rooms to pick up more crew,” Careen nodded. The little Twi’lek was looking at him, half curious, half delighted. “What?”

“Nothing. Just... ‘we.’”

“Well, you ain’t gettin’ Xhona without me. Sorry, them’s the rules.”

“I’m more than happy with those rules,” Cain assured him. “We can use a pilot. Blink and I and Xho can fly, but none of us is specifically trained as one, and your experience will definitely come in handy.” Careen beamed.

“It’ll be nice to work with brothers again,” he admitted. “But I’m not calling you Commander, right?”

“Please don’t,” Cain agreed. “I really don’t want to be called that anyway. Just Cain is fine.”

“I’m good with that,” Careen smiled back. He nodded as he looked around the ship.

“I’m sold.”

“Me too.”

“Let’s go grab the others then and have them check it, but I’m happy.” Cain led the way back to where everyone else was, near the New Dawn. Blink was in disguise, Bard was wearing a headscarf, and Recoil was just sitting on a box. He waved as they approached, and Xhona, sitting by Blink, nudged him. She didn’t need to.

“Hey Cain. Hey vod. You’re Careen then?”

“I am.”

“Blink. That’s Bard and that’s Recoil.”

“You’re the RC?”

“That I am,” Blink nodded.

“What unit you with?” Recoil asked as he hopped down from the box.

“124th.”

“We’re picking them up from all over, aren’t we?” Bard remarked.

“Nice to meet you, vod.” He was grinning again. He usually was, when he didn’t have the bes’bev in his mouth.

“You too.” They shook. The other two did as well. Xhona was looking around at them all, and Recoil put an arm around her shoulders.

“Welcome to the crew, officially,” he nodded, to her and Careen.

The pilot beamed. “Been a while since I had one of those.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Xhona jabbed.

“No offence, Xho, but you’re hardly a crew by yourself.”

“Fair cop.”

“Did he do the thing?” Blink asked Cain quietly. They nodded.

“Is it just something about me?”

“Yeah, basically,” Blink shrugged. He couldn’t exactly explain what, but Cain had this sense about them. You could trust them, they were likeable as well as adorable, and certain people just... adopted them. They slipped into your heart and settled there, and any clone that felt that, saw that, how much Cain trusted and just _cared_ , would love them.

“Come on,” Careen told them,

“Cain and I have found a ship we like, we want you all to take a look. It’s got a dozen individual rooms and plenty of room for technological kriffing around.”

“Can we give it big guns? I wanna give it big guns,” Recoil said as they walked. Cain rolled their eyes, smiling, and slid their hand into Xhona’s.

“You’ve got a good family,” the Togruta murmured.

“Yeah,” Cain murmured back, smiling softly. “I do.”

“Even if your brother is too tall for his own good.”

“ _Right_?”

Two hours later, another ship was parked in the New Dawn’s hangar deck. It was half the size of the Chameleon, and was currently being taken apart from the inside by a hacker and a wire-jockey RC who were happily chatting away, but it was theirs, and it would be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ‘brother’ Xhona mentions is Kell from Chapter 1, he’s 6’3”. The New Dawn is Kell and Black Company’s massive freighter, and houses them, several non-clone crew, and 80-odd clone rescues. The Chameleon is Smoke Squad’s ship (you’ll meet them later) and Bard is an ARC that was rescued from a reconditioning transport ship by Cain and Kell between Chapters 1 and 2.


	4. New Squad, New Misunderstandings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where things get canon divergent; this is an AU where, after Umbara, a just-starting Panther Squad runs into the 501st, and Fives, after discussion with Rex, joins them. (I couldn’t leave him to die, okay? I love Fives.)

It wasn’t... what he’d expected, when he’d told Rex, quietly and in the privacy of the Captain’s room, what he wanted. Of course he’d heard the way Cain spoke with the others, how there was no real hierarchy, how it was all just names, no titles. He’d noticed how they’d all been around each other, and he’d expected the camaraderie of clones. 

He hadn’t expected the family, the way Blink said “aliit Toqema” like he’d grown up in it, the way Recoil would tackle hug anyone, Careen’s bright grins and Bard’s eagerness to share, the back-and-forth banter between Xhona, Cain, and the clones. Even with Skywalker and Tano, Fives had never had a non-clone close friend. They were still officers, no matter how friendly they were. This group all treated each other like vode, like aliit, one big family. Blink, as the oldest, might be considered head of the family if you squinted, but really, everyone played an equal part. 

Fives was, admittedly, unsure at first. He’d been with the 501st since Rishi. He wasn’t sure how well he would fit into Panther Squad, the family built around it. He got along well with Bard and Recoil (yet another ARC and gunner, he was sensing a pattern), and he really liked Careen. Blink was ori’vod to them all, and he and Fives talked a lot and swapped stories of missions. Xhona made him laugh, which he appreciated because there weren’t a lot of laughs before, not after Umbara. Cain was, if not the head of the family, certainly the heart of it, and they made sure he settled in over the first few days. Fives was still unsure, a bit, despite his confident exterior, but he was getting there. He’d clicked, as Blink called it, with Cain, and that meant he had a place. But he was still working on clicking with the others. 

He clicked with Careen over the story of piloting the weird alien ship on Umbara. They talked about it over caf (Careen always had caf) while on their way to a new destination, and Careen was suitably impressed. Blink, it was easy: mutual respect of ability, and being a pair of smart asses, meant the two of them got along beautifully. Fives sparred with Recoil a couple of times, and when he managed to slam the heavy gunner into the ground, he saw the acceptance in Recoil’s winded smile. Despite both being ARCs, Fives and Bard took a bit to get used to each other—ARCs from different companies tended to have rivalries—but when Fives joined in on a song the other clone was playing, Bard complimented his singing voice, and they fit neatly from there.

Xhona... was an interesting one. As Cain’s partner, she was clued in to the little Twi’lek in ways no one else was. She’d approved of Fives, seeing the way he’d clicked with Cain, but she watched him. Fives had experience with being watched by a Togruta, of course, but that didn’t mean it didn’t sometimes feel like there was a second panther on the ship, and she was stalking him. (Allesh, of course, simply loved having more friends, and took to Fives immediately.) Xhona seemed almost to keep track of him. Finally, he went to ask about it. 

“Xhona, can we talk?” She was sitting in the chair beside Careen, trying one of Bard’s various teas. She looked up before he entered the room, nodding in response to the question. 

“Sure. Watch this for me, Car, will you?” 

“Sure. Have a nice chat.” The pilot shot a glance at Fives, curious but not suspicious, as Xhona followed him out of the room. Fives ducked into the nearest empty room, which happened to be the cargo hold. 

“Did I do something?” His expression wasn’t quite accusatory, more concern and confusion than anything else.

Xhona sat on one of the plasteel containers and folded one knee over the other. “Not that I can think of, why?” 

“You keep watching me. I’ve noticed the way your eyes track me in a room. Why?” Her expression when doing so was never angry or suspicious, or malevolent in any way, but it was disconcerting to always feel eyes on the back of your neck. 

Xhona frowned slightly, before her brow cleared. “Ahh. I... think I might be doing what Careen calls my ‘predator look’ without realising it,” she admitted quietly. 

“That’s... what it seems like, yes. Did I do something to warrant it? Because if I can fix it I would like to.” 

“It’s not really fixable,” she shrugged. “I think it’s coming off as aggressive when I don’t mean it to be, but I’m keeping track of you to make sure you’re... well, comfortable. Settling in properly. Everyone else here was solo, either a rescue or a deserter. You’ve just come from a company that you’ve been with a long time, and I know you probably miss them, a lot. This is new, and different, so I want to make sure you’re feeling okay. I know Cain would be upset if you regretted it because they’d feel it was their fault.” 

Fives frowned as he put all this together. “It’s because you’re worried about me?” 

“Basically, yes. I think you’ll do really well here, and everyone really likes you, myself included, but I want to make sure you want to be here and feel you fit in properly. I forgot that some people pick up on it and get uncomfortable. Sorry, Fives.” Her cheeks went a bit darker purple, and the ARC dropped onto the container next to her. 

“Well now I know why, I don’t feel so much like I’m in trouble,” he told her, smiling. “Yeah, I’m okay. I do miss my brothers, especially Rex, but I think I’m better off here. I was... becoming trouble, I think was the phrase,” Fives said dryly. “I almost got court martialed after Umbara for mutiny. Rex had to do a lot of talking to fix that one.”

“No wonder you and Bard get along so well,” Xhona said dryly. He snorted. 

“Yeah, true enough. We both were a bit disobedient. I think I’m lucky to have been picked up by you all when I was. Skywalker’s getting more reckless, not less, and despite being my general I was getting snappish. Rex was keeping me in check, but...” he trailed off with a shrug. “I was probably a couple smart comments and backtalking from being sent back to Kamino.” The Zyggeria plan had been infuriating, and only a swift kick under the table from Rex and his hand squeezed so tight the bones crunched had kept Fives quiet. 

Xhona nodded and reached over, squeezing his shoulder briefly. “Yeah, you fit right in here. We’re all a bunch of smart mouths. You got something to say, you say it, and we’ll all respond. You don’t have to worry about a court martial, either, when you’re not in the military,” she added with a smile. 

“Do you think... would I be able to call Rex? Just to let him know I’m okay?” 

“I think so. We’ll have to do it on a secure line, but it should be fine. Nothing Blink and I can’t fix up.” 

“Thanks. That- yeah, that would be good.” 

“You doin’ all right, Fives?” 

“Yeah. I think so, yeah.” He nodded, and she did too. He felt himself settle, properly, when she smiled at him. 

“Good. Come on, let’s go get that line set up for you. I’m sure Rex will be glad to hear from you.” 

“Thanks, Xhona.” 

“No problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fives deserves all the love! Don’t worry, he still gets to warn Rex about the chips, but this time he does it with backup and without the whole Coruscant Guard after him, so Fox doesn’t shoot him, Rebels can still happen, and everything is hunky dory.


	5. Jaig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of Jaig. He gets picked up after Fives, and this is the tale of how he ends up with Panther Squad.

He was a bomb tech. Fairly simple job description. Build the explosives. Place the explosives. Find the explosives. Defuse the explosives.

Jaig excelled in the training. He could always, _always_ find the hidden mines, always figure out which wires to cut or change or attach to fuse or defuse the bombs, had the best aim with a grenade launcher. He put it down to good eyesight and good memory, and his batchmates said he must have eyes like a shriek-hawk, a jai’galaar, the screaming hawks that haunt Mandalore with their calls as they hunt. He took it as his name, Jaig, the same name given to the symbol of bravery.

It was on a battlefield the first time the vague, uncomfortable suspicion began to develop a distressing degree of certainty. Jaig somehow ended up isolated from his group in the flying blaster bolts, diving from an incoming bomb moments before it hit the ground. He didn’t so much hear where his vode were, so much as he felt it, and he took off running in their direction. Something told him to pick up the pace, and he rounded the corner just in time to see a brother, a batchmate running full tilt.

“ _NO_!” The brother was thrown backwards, but not by the mine. Jaig shouldn’t have known, couldn’t have known, it was too dark and things were too loud and there was _no way_ , but he raced forward, dropping to his knees, digging out and defusing the mine in record time. The brother was sitting, staring at him, before darting his eyes around. The Commander was some distance back, and the vod knew what the Force felt like. Still, he gave a quick thanks to his brother before darting forward again.

It was after that battle that the Commander took him aside. The _Commander_ (a Padawan, too young, they all were too young) took him aside.

“I didn’t do that and we both know it.”

“I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

(Jaig was shaking after. He’d thought maybe, on the barest edge of consciousness in the middle of the night, he’d wondered, but seeing it, knowing it, was something else entirely.)

“You threw him. And you couldn’t have known that mine was there. You knew before you even saw, didn’t you?”

“Sir, please-”

“You felt it.”

“Commander, you’re mistaken. I’m a clone, sir, we’re not meant to be-”

“You are, Jaig. I’ve had a feeling since I met you but this is my first real confirmation. You’re a Force user, Jaig.” Silence, for a long beat.

“Please don’t tell the General.” It was a whisper, the terrified whisper of someone hiding who has just been discovered, and doesn’t know yet if it’s a friend or an enemy silhouetted against the light.

“Not the General,” the Commander promised, and Jaig breathed again. The General would not have understood. Jaig did not belong in the temple, and furthermore wouldn’t have gone. “I’ll teach you what I know, in secret.”

And so the night sessions began. The Padawan was a little clunky, a little inexperienced, but they worked well together. Jaig had learned without learning how to focus himself and reach out in the Force, and the Commander helped him hone that, strengthen it, expand it. Soon Jaig could find anyone on the ship, if he tried and focused. He wasn’t perfect by any means, but he was good. His Commander helped him see through the Force, and he realised he could feel through the wires of the bombs he defused what each would do. It was more than luck or insight.

The Padawan warily moved on to teaching him to use a lightsaber. This worried Jaig most. Lightsabers were so different from any other weapon: blasters had triggers, grenades had pins. Lightsabers were somehow more and less than any other weapon he had used, so light and simple and yet requiring so very much work. He drilled the katas he was taught with a stick, kept hidden in his bag. He could feel his own strength and he was proud, but in part it scared him. Knowing this, being somewhere between clone soldier and Jedi, was too dangerous.

He found a crystal on a mission and kept it.

———

“You have to go.”

“What?”

“Jaig, you can’t stay here anymore. It’s too dangerous.” The words that had niggled at the base of his skull for weeks. “You’re strong enough that the General will sense you soon. You have to leave before that happens.”

“But my brothers-”

“Will be fine.”

Jaig took deep breaths. His world was rocking, but he knew the Padawan was right. “How do I leave?”

“I’ll help you. Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” How could he not? This was his Commander, his teacher. He trusted them more than almost anyone.

“Good. Take this, you’ve earned it. I have more.” The Padawan shrugged off their robe and gave it to him. They were shorter than he was. It made almost a long tunic on him, and after putting it on Jaig put his belt over it, then replaced his armor. “Meet me in the Hangar tonight. Say goodbye to your brothers.”

Jaig’s brothers did not ask why. They knew well enough what kind of goodbye this was. The hugs were fierce, the tears stung, but when the night came it was time to leave. The Padawan has asked if he could make it without getting caught. Jaig could. He was good enough now.

The Commander bid him goodbye, holding him almost as tight as his brothers.

“Go safely. May the Force be with you, Jaig.”

“You too, Commander.” And Jaig was gone.

He practiced his skills on his own, working to hone those he had and develop new ones. He kept the crystal. It took time, and effort, but he built himself a lightsaber out of spare parts. It’s a very pale blue, different from the Jedi, less white and more silver at its core. It’s designed to be useful: he can carry a set of small poison or smoke bombs in the end of the hilt for a quick getaway, there’s small knife that clips into the side, it has a nonlethal setting. He wore the Padawan’s robe like a long jacket, now accompanied by a long vest and done over with a belt. He’d been on his own six months, by the time Cain found him. He was lonely and alone and wary as a cat gone feral, but he remembered the Padawan, saw his brothers with the young Twi’lek, and decided it was time he had a family and began his training again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve always loved the idea of Force-Sensitive clones, so Jaig was my experiment of what that might look like. After he leaves the GAR, he gets spots tattooed over his face, down his shoulders, torso, and legs, as a form of disguise. People are less likely to know him as a clone, and more likely to look at the spots instead of his facial features. Also, he thinks they’re pretty.


	6. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short, intense flashback chapter, this takes place during the six weeks Cain was missing after their battalion and General were killed, detailing their escape from the place they were being held during their capture by the Separatists. Content warnings for violence and blood.

As soon as the door opened again, they went for it, darting forward from the very back of the room. They’d been waiting for weeks now for their chance, and had learned as much as they could about this place and the guards and everything else, suffering shocks and bruises and all manner of verbal abuse. This time, when the guard opened the cell to come get them, they went for him. Cain leapt, leg out, and kicked him hard in the nose, knocking him backwards. His head slammed into the wall, and he slid down with eyes closed. Their hands were cuffed to keep them from using the Force, but they found the keys on his belt and got their hands free. They used the cuffs on the guard instead, threw him into the cell (with no little effort), and kept the keys.

Then they were racing down the hallway. They knew where their lightsabers were being kept and they needed them back if they wanted any chance of escaping intact. Not only that but no self-respecting Jedi would leave weapons like that in the hands of people like this.

The grunts Cain ran into on the way there fell easily, and they got in and out of the armory quickly. By this time an alarm was blaring, loud and shrill and oppressive. Their limbs ached from the bruises under their prison clothes, but they didn’t have time to find their old robes. They had to get to the exit. They had to get out. They had to get _home_.

Dashing through corridors. Guard after guard. Some landed blows before they were knocked out, and Cain hissed and swore. As they drew closer to the entrance, the guards were armed. They were cut, now, as they went for the way out, and they were almost there when a hissing voice chilled their blood.

The person responsible for their previous bruises, the shocks, the pain of the last two weeks, stepped out in front of them. Cain lowered their center and drew the shoto, the lightsaber small enough to fit in this corridor. They had to get past that one person and they could get out. They could get gone. They _had_ to get out.

The alarms seemed even louder and more oppressive here, pressing against Cain from all sides, and they let out a whine of pain. They heard the hissing laughter of their tormenter and swallowed the instinctive whimper that rose in their throat. _Just get out._ That was all they had to do. _Get past him, get out and go home. That’s it._

They ran. The creature was ready, a short sword of some kind in his hand, curved and wickedly sharp. They struck and he struck and back and forth, Cain hissing in pain, suppressing whimpers that were cries in their mind. They got him turned around, so their back was to the entrance. All they needed was—

A clawed hand escaped below the shoto, and slashed across their stomach. Cain screamed, a bloodcurdling, ear-splitting sound accompanied by a blast of the Force, something they hadn’t thought they had the strength for. The Trandoshan went flying backwards, and Cain went for the exit, as fast as they could manage. They got out of the compound, one hand clamped over their side, and they pushed forwards. The wound burned and stung and screamed, and Cain was crying as they pushed their way across the salt flat under a purple sky. They heard a hissing cry and laughter of those behind them. There was no pursuit. The Separatists didn’t expect Cain to survive out there anyway.

The short lightsaber was shoved into their waistband with the other, they didn’t remember doing that. There was a rubbish pile, refuse from the base they’d just escaped, some ways away, and they made for it. It was a chance. It was a chance, that was all they needed, was a chance. Cain was crying, still, but the sobs were just dry, harsh sounds as they made it to the garbage heap. They couldn’t see pursuit, still. Maybe they’d get lucky enough that the reptilian hunter wouldn’t come after them at all, wasn’t just giving them a head start as prey. If they could make it to the mountains they’d seen in the distance, they could survive long enough to figure out where they were, and find a way off.

They bit hard on their lip, whimpering, as they used the saber to cauterize the claw slash. Located above their naval, it stretched from just left of the belly button across their stomach all the way to their right side, under their ribs. Blood, stark and red against their pale green skin and the white of the salt flat, was soaked into their slashed shirt and the waist of their pants. The shirt stuck to them in places.

They found a piece of metal, a thin little wire, and a piece of cloth with string at the edges. Their hands, sticky and shaking, picked the string out, and moved the metal piece around the short saber’s blade with what little use of the Force they could summon up, until it was the right shape, with a point and a hole in the end of its curve. They got the string through the hole at the end and slowly, as carefully as they could, the blood on their hand now dried and cracking, they began to sew the wound. They were crying again, those broken sounds of pain and fear, as they pulled the needle through over and over and over and over. Every stitch brought fresh pain and fresh sobs. It was so much. It was almost too much but they couldn’t, they couldn’t afford to stop no matter how scared they were or how much it hurt. They couldn’t afford to be scared of dying. They had to get home. Kell was waiting for them, _they had to get home_.

They _finally_ finished the stitches and lay there panting, under the white sun and purple sky, before dragging themself, whimpering, under a shaded section. They gave a choked, cracked sound that was too tired to be a sob, at this point.

They had to get home.

How the _hell_ were they going to get home?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Cain has trauma! Because even the bubbliest of people can have darkness in their pasts. It took them another month to get back to the Temple, at which point they found out that Kell’s legion had been wiped out, and they left the Order to go looking for him (and whoever was left).


	7. Grief Makes A Deserter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hadn’t meant to scream. 
> 
> “Seems so wrong, I know myself. If I had seen you there, I’d’ve been overwhelmed but it got away from me.” (Solar Eclipse - Jim and the Povolos)
> 
> Also a flashback chapter to when Blink lost his squad. Content warnings on this chapter for death, violence, blood/gore.

He’d come to slowly, aching, but alive. His head was ringing, and it took him several seconds to actually open his eyes. Blink groaned softly, hardly able to hear it over the ringing in his ears and his own pounding heartbeat. Pulling his helmet off didn’t really help much. The helmets did have sound dampeners, of course, but even those had their limits, and being that close to an explosion of that magnitude was going to-

The explosion. 

_Oh, gods._

Blink rolled over and pushed himself to his hands and knees, before getting to his feet. His mind had gone white with dread, and he didn’t want to turn.

He had to. 

It was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Infiltrating a separatist stronghold had been nothing compared to the effort it took to turn around, force his feet to move under him as the ice in his head slid down into his stomach. _Oh gods. Oh, gods, please_...

The scream left his throat without his meaning it to. It was the first sound above the ringing in his ears that he’d actually registered, and it sounded broken, even to him. He sank to his knees, the tears unstoppable no matter how good his training was.

He’d been at the back. He’d been covering their rear, while the others were farther ahead. Even so the explosion had thrown him backwards and slammed him into the ground so hard he’d blacked out. He was alive.

The others were not.

Two were in pieces.  

The third simply lay still. 

Blink had done all the training: tight spaces, interrogation, torture simulation, crawling through rancid bantha guts with no helmet, everything. He’d held fast, been strong, steady, steel. He’d done brilliantly and passed with flying colors. None of that could ever have prepared him for this.

Blink turned to one side and threw up.

The Commando swallowed a few times, trying to get the foul taste from his tongue. He wiped his mouth, then got up, his breathing shaky. He made his way first to the one just lying still. As he approached, he saw the dark pool around the body, and the chunk of shrapnel embedded in the clone’s throat. He was dead. He’d probably bled out while Blink was unconscious. Blink felt the bile rise in his chest again and forced it down. Then he moved on, to where the first two lay strewn across the ground. One, the second in line, lay outside the crater, his arm and a leg no longer attached. Some of the shrapnel was still embedded in the armor, which had caved into his chest, certainly killing him. It would have been fast, at least. He wouldn’t have died choking on his own blood or felt his limbs torn from his body.

The last was scattered. He’d been the first in line. Blink could see the lower section of a leg, a gloved hand, what looked like a section of shoulder still wearing its massive pad. The body had been ripped apart in the explosion, where the armor was weakest. It would have been instantaneous. Blink looked around, not at the carnage, but for something specific. He found it, and slowly, his legs wooden, made his way over to it. Blink dropped to his knees once more, like a puppet with his strings cut, and choked slightly. His hands were shaking as he reached out and lifted the helmet, cradling it in his lap. His sobs were choked off sounds, tears rolling down his cheeks and chin to fall onto the darkened T-visor of the Katarn helmet. “My brother,” Blinkwhispered. “My brothers.” His face contorted with grief, chin dropping to his chest plate. “My brothers.” He held the helmet, the head of his fallen brother, unable to stop the sobs that wracked his body. He didn’t know how long he sat there in tears before they finally started to subside. As his breathing started to settle again, he opened his eyes, gazing down at the familiar shape. He lifted it carefully, setting his forehead against the forehead of the helmet. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” There was nothing he could have done. He couldn’t have saved them. Part of him wished he had died too, he _should_ have died with them. He didn’t want to think about life without them, these men he had been born and grown and trained with. They were all he’d ever known, and now he’d lost them. This cruel, evil _fucking_ war had taken them from him. Just like it took so many others. So many senseless siblings’ deaths. Nearly the only family he’d ever had, gone.

He put the helmet down, slowly. Standing took effort, as his body was steadying to register the bruises of being thrown several meters and slamming into the ground. Blink took a deep breath and looked back over the carnage. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t complete this mission on his own. He didn’t know what lay ahead, and he didn’t have the expertise necessary for all the moving parts. He didn’t have enough information. He could report in, say what had happened, and as the sole survivor... what? He’d be placed in a new squad? RCs were born with their squads, grew up with their squads, knew their squads better than they knew themselves, and... he’d just get dropped into a new one. Just like that.

For the first time in his entire life, Blink had a choice. A real choice, a choice that only he could make. And once it was made, there would be no reversing his decision.

The rage was as unexpected as the scream.

Bastards. _Fucking_ bastards, there had been no warning for them, intel hadn’t said anything about this. No information that the enemy might have weapons of this kind, that they might be defended this way. And what would the army do? They’d pluck him up and drop him into some other squad, some other unit. No. He wouldn’t be just another interchangeable replacement part. He wasn’t going to be a cog in their fucking _bullshit_ war machine. What would his brothers think? Blink didn’t know.

His squad was dead. And he had a choice.

Stay, and be placed in a new squad with people he didn’t know to face more horrors in a war he no longer believed in.

Or run. Let the army think he’s also dead, and go.

Blink went and found the missing chest plate of the brother who’s been first in line, and pulled the ID chip off of it. Then he pulled the other from the caved-in plate, and the reddened armor of the third. Finally Blink pulled his own ID chip off his Katarn armor, and stripped out of it. He wasn’t taking it with him.

He could go back to where they’d stashed their things. No one else besides them had known where it was. He could pick up his supplies there, spare armor, civvies, the few credits they’d been given for the mission. He dropped the chips into his pocket and, after a moment’s thought, pulled his DC-17 from the armor too. He pulled the belt over his shoulder so the gun stayed flat against his back. His knives were still in place, strapped around his thigh and tucked into either boot. Two up his sleeves. A ditch-or-the-wall blade on a cord around his neck, under his shirt. He could pick up a datapad somewhere once he was off planet, get anything else he needed at their supply cache.

No one would come for the bodies.

They didn’t come for clone bodies.

When no one from this Squad responded to GAR hails after 24 hours, they would be counted as a total kill, and that was that. Neatly sealed and tied with a bow, all their names—numbers—listed as inactive. He and his squad would be dead, and Blink could slip off into the sky with no one looking for him. Blink did one last check and looked forward, hesitating long enough for a deep breath.

He took one step, slowly, and then another. A third followed. The steps started slow, but gradually picked up pace, until he was running flat out. Tears were streaming from his eyes again, blown back by the force of the air against his face. Blink was running, away from the bodies, yes, away from the army, from his duty, this war, everything he’d been trained and raised to know and do and trust and believe. A small part of him was screaming to go back, to call, to return to the familiar, but as he got further from the site, the voice grew smaller and smaller. Blink was making the choice none of his brothers had ever been given the chance to make. He was getting the hell out.

**Author's Note:**

> Kell and the New Dawn crew are property of my friend @rogueclonesftw on tumblr. Follow me and learn more about my characters on tumblr, @fromryloth-tocorellia!


End file.
